


Dream Speech

by redscudery



Series: Scudery's Saturday Night Fic Fest [20]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: John is vengeful, Kissing, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Slash, Sherlock is a Brat, Sleeptalking, Watching Someone Sleep, dreaming about kissing, wishing they were kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-01
Updated: 2014-12-01
Packaged: 2018-02-27 17:40:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2701586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redscudery/pseuds/redscudery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If it hadn't been for the pigeons, John would never have known Sherlock talked in his sleep. If Sherlock hadn't talked in his sleep, John would never have known that Sherlock wanted to kiss him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dream Speech

**Author's Note:**

> From giveaway winner kkingdeo's prompt: "Sherlock sleep talking and John decides to get back at him for (whatever reason you want). John asks Sherlock stuff and he responds rather drunkenly. Next morning Sherlock tells John he had a weird dream, and John just smiles and tries to hold in his laugh."

It started with the pigeons, John says to himself. If a man finds dead pigeons in the breadbox, he is perfectly justified in returning them to their owner.   
That their owner—Sherlock Holmes, of course—is sleeping soundly is of no consequence, and as for the potential trauma of waking to find dead pigeons adorning one’s pillow, well, that’s just desserts and nothing else, John thinks. No jury of his peers would convict him.   
Which is why he’s now standing three feet from Sherlock Holmes’ bed with a bag of dead birds.   
Well, that’s not exactly why.   
Because really, what John had planned to do was deposit the pigeons and run, but as he approaches the bed he has become conscious of two things. One, that Sherlock really does sleep naked, and two, that he, John Watson, is in no way prepared for the effect Sherlock naked is having on him.   
He can handle the erection. He’s used to it. It’s the entirely unexpected wave of tenderness that engulfs him that he’s not used to. Add to that the discovery that Sherlock talks in his sleep, and it’s just too much. He turns to go; he’ll wrap the pigeons in Sherlock’s best dressing gown instead.   
“John!”  
John wheels around but Sherlock has his eyes tight shut. Warily, John takes another step forward. Sherlock’s breathing is regular, and his mouth partly open. If he’s shamming sleep, he’s doing a good job.  
“Not the shelves, no. Experiment.” Sherlock mutters, and John watches his lips move with a fascination that does nothing to deflate his already-hard cock. Who knew Sherlock talked in his sleep? More to the point, who knew Sherlock slept?  
“John doesn’t… no, off.”  
This is too much.  
“John doesn’t what?” John says, more sharply than he’d intended. He holds his breath.   
“Jumpers.” This comes out in a soft huff and John is really going to leave now, sure that Sherlock is performing some sort of weird somatic experiment.   
“Kiss me.”   
“Oh, Janine’s not…” John snaps, and then Sherlock repeats himself, putting fragments together.  
“John doesn’t kiss me,” he sighs.   
“D’you want me… him… to?” Bending closer, John can see each one of Sherlock’s eyelashes.   
“Yes. No jumpers.”  
“You…no.” John stops. It’s too dangerous, suddenly: there are dead pigeons in his hands and Sherlock is sleeping, after all.   
“Pigeons.”  
“Yes, pigeons. Bloody pigeons. In the breadbox.”  
“Blood drained. John!”  
“I don’t care that you drained the…”  
“Kiss me.”  
“No.” John takes another step back.  
Sherlock’s lips turn down, and John flees the room.  
___________________  
“Dreams are odd.”   
When Sherlock says this, the next morning, John freezes, his hand halfway to the toaster. He doesn’t answer.  
“Last night I had the strangest one.” Sherlock’s voice is nonchalant, and so John ventures an “Oh?”  
“You were standing in my room with dead pigeons. And then I told you I liked your jumpers.”  
“About those pigeons, Sherlock,” John begins, “They…”  
“No, wait,” Sherlock continues; “but that can’t be right, can it, because no sane person likes them.”  
“Oh, ta,” John says, “Lovely.” He hopes that’ll pass. Because though Sherlock may not like his jumpers, John knows that Sherlock wants to kiss him, and that is something that makes all the mockery of his clothing choices worthwhile.

They’ll kiss someday. And until then, the pigeons are safely stored in Sherlock’s second-best Oxfords.


End file.
